


Jaime in Winter

by Marsmiims



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsmiims/pseuds/Marsmiims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Wherein Joanna tells Tywin what she has seen before her death. Tywin's solution? Foster Jaime in the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jaime in Winter

Jamie likes to fight. At nine he is the best at the Rock among his age group. Some try to use great strength against him, try to sweep him out the way, but he outlasts them. Others use their wits and still others play defensively, but he beats them all. His father has to hire a man specifically from King’s Landing to train him. Ser Nestor of the Vale is very good, and he always beats Jaime. Their first spar is jarring. Jaime tries to forget it after.

When Jaime fights he feels like his father. Tywin Lannister sits on the throne of the Rock like his mother, the Lady Jeyne, had birthed him on it and for it. It is an affinity Jaime himself never feels for the seat. But when he has a sword in his hand! When he has one in his hand he feels as capable as his father. 

When he is with Cersei it is the same. She tells him what is right, and he believes it, knows it: for is it not said he was born into the world holding onto her foot? He loves fighting and he loves Cersei. He would do anything for the either, but especially loves wielding the first for the second. Jamie loves Cersei, often asks why they cannot be open, wonder why Westeros frowns upon the love he has for his sister when Targayans have been wedding each other for years?

Why their mother looks at them with that look that she has: horror mingled with disappointment when she catches them.

Joanna drags them apart, and the look Cersei sends their mother is of pure loathing, but Joanna, whose glare is greater, yanks them apart, and there it is. One of those defining moments. If Jaime were the type to believe in signs, looking back, this would have been one. 

Their mother goes into early labor, Cersei whispers, “She will separate us,” but Jaime doesn’t care.

“Father, come quick!” he screams through the halls, and it works, servants come pouring out. Tywin with them, he sees his wife, her right hand held tight in Jamie’s left, her left hand clutched around her middle.

Tywin scoops her up, a brief flash of despair, before he is father again, strong, insurmountable Tywin. The lion of Lannister. His father has a very straight back, it doesn’t bend through the night, and the next day, not even when their mother’s shouts dampen. 

The baby’s cries echo through the halls. All else is quite. Jaime sits in the sept, his head bowed before the mother trying to find the words to ask after his mother. He is there bowing when he feels a hand on his shoulder yanking him up violently. 

“Your mother is dead. That won’t help,” it never will. That is what Jaime hears after, though he wonders if it his own fancy.

“And the baby?”

Tywin does not answer, nobody will. He can’t find Cersei, is not sure he wants too, so he goes searching for it. His younger sibling. It is, well, it’s a shock. He has a younger brother. An imp they whisper. But Jaime sees his tiny pink hands and wonders at them. To be honest Tyrion, that is the name their father has given him, is a bit ugly. But Jaime laughs, this is what has his father so vexed? Jaime does not know what his father has lost.

Jaime doesn’t ask himself why, but rather why not. And when Tyrion’s tiny hand reaches out to grasp his own Jaime’s choice is made. He has a little brother. 

Joanna’s body still warms the ground when the Dornish party comes to visit. Lorenza Martell is not beautiful, especially not when compared to his sister. But she is striking in the way that those women who look a bit like a man can be. Oberyn is striking in the way that his mother is, though it suits him better, though Jaime decides he doesn’t like him. Elia is there to, and she is forgettable. 

She is forgettable till he walks in on her and Oberyn and Cersei gathered around Tyrion. Then he is angry. He has not seen this side of Cersei and he does not like it. She is squeezing his cock and Tyrion is crying, and Jaime has had enough.

“Cersei, what are you doing?”

His sister doesn’t even look ashamed, just irritated and… something else, though Jaime can’t tell what it is. 

“I was showing them our little brother,” though the way she says little brother could also be used to say many other things, all of them unsavory.

Jaime looks at Tyrion and his sister, “Maybe we should show them the lions instead.”

But that doesn’t make her look any happier. And she Loves seeing the lions. Instead she gets mad (at him!), though she seems outwardly to agree, “Yes Jaime, that is a better idea.”

She gathers her skirts sweeps out of the room leaving a bewildered Jaime. Oberyn looks between the two and laughs before following Cersei out of the room, but before he can stalk after him Elia is there. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles, but Jaime decides that she looks pretty when she smiles, for all that she is sickly.

Cersei doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day, though she lets him into her chambers that evening. He wants to hold her hand, but before he can manage it, she yanks it away.

“Why did you do that?”

Jaime can’t see why his sister is so… he does not have a word for what she is yet, “Do what?”

“Defend it!”

Now she is really being strange, “Tyrion?” Jaime smiles and shrugs, “He is our brother.”

Cersei glares at him, “And I am your twin. Your other half.” She punctuates the second sentence with particular force.

Jaime reaches out for her hand again, “Yes you are,” though she is still irritated enough to pull away. Jaime wonders at his sister for a moment, “Why are you doing this?”

Something flashes across Cersei’s face, it flies by so fast that putting a name to it would be difficult, but Jaime sees it. Then she stills and Jaime holds his breath. Instead of the tidal wave he was expecting though, Cersei is all smiles. Jaime still sees the anger behind her eyes, but he will let is pass. 

Sometimes his twin can be very difficult.

“Jaime, you are my other half.” Of course, she is, “So why are we letting this thing get between us?”

“Nothing could get between us!” Apparently he says this with enough gusto to make his sister happy, because she lets it go. But Jaime decides that its probably better to not bring Tyrion up again in his sister’s presence. He is sure that she will see it as he does eventually.

It is Cersei who moves to draw his hand to her heart, but the door opens instead. Their father stands before them, the light from the torches in the hall outlines his head of golden hair making it glow, and the shadow he casts into Cersei’s room encompasses both of them. Jaime wonders for half a moment if Cersei was wrong about their mother passing what she saw to their father, that she died before she could do so. (Jaime had tried to forget that moment, tried not to worry, because the Triumph on Cersei’s face had drenched Jaime’s heart in cold water).

Then Jaime knows that their father knows because the look he gives them, the slow one that opens the soul, is the one that he usually reserves for bannermen who are being particularly stupid. But it’s more than that. It’s disgust too. 

Their father has always been to the point, “I am returning to King’s Landing tomorrow. Cersei, you will be coming with me.”

Cersei opens her mouth to say something, but their father cuts her off with the coldest look either have ever seen, “Jaime, you will stay here,” and learn how to properly be my heir is the unspoken, but he also includes don’t disappoint me. 

They leave the next morning. Jaime doesn’t know what to do. He has never spent a day without Cersei, but father, Jaime doesn’t know how to deal with their father, especially not now that their mother is gone. Cersei cries and pleads, but it only makes him more adamant to separate the two. Their father says nothing, but he knows. Cersei does not think he does, but how can she be so blind? Can’t she see how he looks at them? Like… well, their father has never looked at Jaime that way ever, and he doesn’t want him too again.

Cersei is not here, nothing is the same. They write, but there is a hole that letters cannot fill. 

Years pass, their father sends instructions for him to learn how to run the keep, but Jaime slips out of them. The best way to describe it caged, he feels caged with his father’s expectations hanging round his shoulders. He escapes to the practice fields and beats every squire roundly, and his father’s men comment that he is too young. Too young to be so talented, or too young to be cooped in his father’s study, Jaime can’t tell, but he thinks maybe they mean both. 

It is three years of this, three years of playing the lordling for their father when he would much rather be a knight. Think on it! Jaime does as he swings his sword round the Rock. Maybe he can be Duncan the Tall! Ser Duncan the Tall, he reminds himself. Tyrion is watching him, and Jaime can’t help but show off for his younger brother (who already shows more promise for ruling at three than Jaime at eleven). 

“Up! Up!” his brother says, and Jaime can’t help but oblige. Uncle Gerion laughs at them both, but then swings his sword at them most playfully. 

Seeing the game for what it is, Jaime brandishes his own, one hand held in Tryion’s to balance the boy, and the other for his sword, they, well it’s not exactly a fight, more like a mummers spectacle, but it gets Tyrion to laugh. 

Jaime playfully stabs their uncle between his arm ribcage, whereupon Gerion closes the opening and falls to the ground with a somewhat exaggerated, “Slain, I am slain, Noble night you have vanquished me!” much to the amusement of both Tyrion and Jaime.

But Gerion stills and Jaime feels the silence behind him as he normally feels the chains of it around his neck. Tyrion turns first and slips down Jaime to stand by his brother and both bow carefully.

Tywin Lannister spares a censorious glare for his brother, who laughs it away, but then turns his gaze to Jaime.

“What time is it Jaime?”

“It’s just past-“

But Tywin silences his literal answer with a disapproving look, lately it’s the only look Jaime has managed to receive from his father. Maybe he should try to be a better lordling? 

“I wasn’t aware the Maester had let you out of his lessons.”

He hadn’t, earlier in the day Jaime had decided that there were more… pressing matters to attend too. Yes, that sounded good.

His father only says, “It will not happen again.”

Jaime shifts and stays silent, while Tywin Lannister remains in King’s Landing he had no real say in Jaime’s daily existence. Still, it is better not to draw attention to that. 

“You will attend your studies everyday, you will stop this nonsense” here his father’s eyes swept the room, “and you will do all of this from King’s Landing, where I can keep a closer eye on you.”

His father stays a month to put his affairs in order, but spends as much time stalking the halls of the Rock or the streets of Lannisport. For a man who prides himself on control his father has certainly done a terrible job of reigning in his anger, at least to those who know him. Uncles Tygett and Gerion certainly avoid him, though Kevan braves the worst of it. Jaime decides then that Uncle Kevan is the bravest. 

But it could be worse. Tywin ignores Tyrion; and so long Jaime tries to fit the role his father would have of him, he also avoids their father’s ire. So why? Duskendale. That word whispered passes his ears more than once. But what exactly does that mean? Somebody finally speaks and when Jaime realizes it’s about the King he laughs, of course it is. His father neither liked nor respected Aerys. Though some say that once upon a time they were friends. Ridiculous.

And for the Red Keep they are bound. 

Jaime’s excitement mingles with- well he doesn’t really want to go with his father, but he does want to see Cersei. There is probably a better way to describe the sickness he feels from these mixed emotions, but really he has no say in the matter. Once Tywin Lannister decides something, the world moves for him.

Tyrion cries, but Jaime promises to write him as soon as his younger brother begins working on his letters, it is sure to happen soon seeing as his brother is very clever. With that he leaves behind his childhood home, and his brother and heads for The Red Keep, a mad King, and a sister he hasn’t seen for the better part of three years. He only really registers one of these things. 

The there is the King’s Landing. The small folk applaud their father because he is golden, and a lion, and because they all know who really runs the kingdom, and he basks in the glow, but waits still. Cersei, when he sees her, and he really only has eyes for her, never mind King’s Landing and it’s stink, is beautiful. Why had they ever been separated? When they were younger he would have run towards her, or she towards him, but they don’t now. His father restrains him, and Cersei restrains herself. So they meet before the gates of the Red Keep and wait with baited breath till they are alone. 

But that moment never comes. Always there is a Septa, or a maid, or valet nearby, and when Cersei tries to dismiss them they all say the same thing, “Orders of the hand.”

Cersei is livid and while walking the halls of the red keep they whisper to each other as they once did as children, hands held between them, heads dipped together

“I will figure out a way. Father listens to me,” her hand digs into his wrist.

But not here, not now. People do not laugh in King’s Landing. The Queen, who Cersei serves, is beautiful, but… tragic. King’s Landing, Jaime likes it little but for Cersei. But when Jaime tries to tell her of home and he gets to Tyrion an anger rises from her. Anger, it is not a word he has ever used for his sister. Cersei is sweet and right, but she is not sweet or right when she speaks of Tyrion, a boy she has not seen since he was an infant. When he tries to tell her this, her frown seeps with the anger in her eyes and she sends him from her room in a screaming fit. 

They do not speak for three days for all that Jaime follows her around, with his presence asking for her forgiveness. She ignores him and instead gazes at the Prince. 

Jaime watches him too, but for different reasons. Cersei looks at Rhaegar Targaryan the same way she looks at him, but different, dreamier. 

He finally gets a response when he brings it up, “The Prince, Rhaegar, you want him.”

Cersei flushes red all the way down her chest, but denies it, “I want to be Queen,” and then, “there is a difference.”

Jaime nods, Cersei is his, as he is hers. But the looks his sister gives Rhaegar don’t leave him so he says the next day, “We could leave.”

“Leave?” Cersei… ascertains him, looks at him like their father looks at him sometimes (Like she finds him wanting).

Jaime flushes, with embarrassment and anger, “Yes leave, for the free cities. I will be the best swordsman anywhere I go, I can pay for our lives there. We can be whatever we want.” We can love each other as we want too.

But Cersei must think he is joking, because she laughs, “Jaime don’t be silly.”

“I wasn’t.”

The clipped way he answered tips her off, because she changes her tone, “We can’t leave father. What would he do without us?”

She says a lot more, but doesn’t answer his questions about Rhargar Targaryan. It is Jaime’s turn for anger. He stalks off to the practice yards and begins hacking away. He does not know whose face he imagines as he parries and slashes, but it does not make him feel better. In the background he hears it, talk about the Lannisters. But what good is being a Lannister is he can’t have what he wants!

“You’re the Lannister boy?”

Of course he is! Jaime thinks this as he counters a particularly nasty parry from his invisible opponent. Then there is a hand on his shoulder turning him round; nobody ever does that to him! He does the only thing he can think to do, and slashes with particular ferocity from the man’s right shoulder across to his left hip. But the man counters!

It brings Jaime back to his first lessons with Ser Nestor all those years ago. How utterly outclassed he had been then and is now. Jaime loathes admitting it. There are some who fight with endurance: waiting for their opponents to get sloppy and show an opening. Some use their speed to make openings, others use power to brush their opponents sword aside, there are other ways to. Most of the people Jaime fights use boyish enthusiasm and blunted minds to swing through to their opponent. But what use is that if there is a blade in the way? This man knows how to fight. 

Jaime depends on his skill with the blade to get him though, most of the people he fights are older and therefore stronger, so he can’t just bat their blades aside. Instead he normally feigns incompetence, before slowly revealing his skill and utterly defeating them. 

Jaime loves the way men look when they realize they have been outclassed by an eleven year old. 

But this man, while he does appear shocked, just frowns and concentrates all the harder. The man has no obvious openings. He has been fighting long enough that he has recognized his own weaknesses and removed them, or compensated for them. One moment Jaime lunges, thinking that he will hit the man, the next he is flat on his back in the dirt. 

Anger, shock, all of these register. He is so mad! He tries to remember the last time someone had beaten him this badly, but can’t. Ser Nestor, maybe. Maybe. So he does the only thing he knows how to do in these situations and laughs. It’s a trick he has learned from uncle Gerion.

Jaime eyes the man before him, and everything else slowly registers. The violet eyes, the white hair and the matching white cloak… he has heard of this man. A Dayne…

“You’re Ser Arthur Dayne!” Jaime laughs again, this time maybe it’s a bit more authentic. Ser Arthur looks down on him, not quite sure what to do, before he holds out his hand to help him up. Jaime looks at it for a moment from his position sprawled on the ground, before deciding that, no, he is a lion, and he does not need help to stand. Ser Arthur does not look offended though, and for that he rises another notch in Jaime’s estimation. Not that he is obvious about his admiration of the man, Arthur Dayne is not the type of man Jaime’s Lord father would want his son to esteem.

“And you are the Lannister boy.”

“Jaime,” he readily agrees, and decides to meet this man everyday. And though Cersei is not forgotten, running into Ser Arthur at the training grounds (not trailing after, lions never trail after anybody), makes ignoring her that much easier. His father has been quite recently, so Jaime can do what he wants, though he has not gotten so bold as to openly defy what his father has ordered.

“You are very good,” Ser Arthur says to him in passing one day. 

“I am,” he is better than very good and will one day beat Ser Arthur. He knows this. Though it might be some time yet… or maybe not.

But it had been the wrong thing to say. Ser Arthur frowns at him, so Jaime adds, “but I can be better.”

In his head he adds, just because I am better than everyone around me, does not mean that I can’t be better.

This seems to appease Ser Arthur because he nods, “Your father would be proud.”

But it’s not a fact is it? His father is proud he will nod and say, you are my son, but it is never enough. Jaime does not say this though, he just smiles. Jaime likes to spar, he likes to fight. He wants to be a dragonknight, a King’s guard. He wants to be like Ser Arthur. This revelation shocks him. He is supposed to want to be like his father. Instead he thinks, Ser Jaime Lannister. He is in such a good mood that he even goes to talk to Cersei.

She is ecstatic, and manages to push the maid out of the room. Neither openly discusses what had upset them so much last time they spoke. It is not important anyway. He wants to kiss her. They are finally alone in her room. But their father opens the door before he Jaime can so much as lean foreword. 

Tywin strides into the room and looks directly at his son, “You are to be fostered with Lord Rickard Stark in Winterfell.”

And all Jaime can think is Where is Winterfell?


End file.
